


Liquid Mercury

by AnotherAnon0



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Nicholai is a hoe again, Shower Sex, Slut Shaming, Smut, Verbal Sex, Voyeurism, sexually frustrated/confused Carlos meets hoe Nicholai and bad things happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 07:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24466993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/pseuds/AnotherAnon0
Summary: A confused Carlos has been watching Nicholai shower.
Relationships: Nicholai Ginovaef | Nikolai Zinoviev/Carlos Oliveira
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	Liquid Mercury

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FanFicReader01](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanFicReader01/gifts).



He had tattoos. 

It was the first thing about him that took Carlos by surprise, the first time he'd seen them. 

The intricate, black-ink designs peppered across his back and chest, stopping just above his elbows. Some were intricate, like the elaborate Russian church that spanned from his belly button to his breasts, and some were simple and direct in their intention, like the crucifixes paralleled on each shoulder blade, or the wolf snarling just above his left hipbone. 

Carlos watched the water dance down the contours of Nicholai's sinewy, rippling muscles, flooding over the flesh-quilt of patchwork images and Russian characters, dancing with every little move he made -- every twitch, every crane of his neck to let the hot stream beat into his aching body.

Nicholai never showered with the other men. Like in everything else, he preferred solitude.

Carlos had caught him, sauntering down the hall away from the bathroom, towel over his shoulder, leaving the trickle of mercenaries to flood to the showers after a hard day's training. No one else had noticed him break away, and out of sheer curiosity -- Carlos pursued. He managed to watch the older man slip around a corner and in through a door he never knew was there from a safe distance, following once the other man's footsteps began to diffuse further away from him. 

It was a shower room in the abandoned part of the facility, the wing the other mercenaries were warned against using due to its poor structural integrity. Walking through those halls -- bunker room doors splayed open, dirty mattresses against the walls, paint flaking from the baseboards -- felt like wandering through an abandoned hospital.

Carlos had poked his head into the shower room before entering, listening for the stream of running water before standing on his toes to peek over the frosted glass partition that privatised the entry to the doorless lavatory.

Nicholai always used the shower in the far-left corner of the room, the one beneath a cobweb covered, small, rectangular window.

The younger man had simply watched. He had told himself he was waiting for Nicholai to finish, so he could proudly, smugly proclaim he'd found his _private bathroom_ and irritate the meticulously serious older man like the known pest he was. He had told himself he'd do it the next night. Then the next. Then the next. 

He was lying to himself, and the realisation was a painful burden he despised carrying.

The first night, he'd hastily paced back to his room when the taps groaned to a close, rushing in silence through the halls of the abandoned barracks, into the warmer, well-lit dormitories that were in use. He'd sat on his bed, hesitating to sleep for reasons he couldn't quite understand. He watched a spot on the floor for hours, believing his mind to be blank when his subconscious was ruminating over every centimetre of Nicholai's body. 

The second night, he'd immediately retreated to his dorm room again. This time laying on his bed in pensive reflection. Obsessing over the words he never spoke -- the terminus. The phrases that would have ended the little jaunts, his voyeuristic gaze. The chide he had told himself he'd utter days ago.

The third, his retreat to his dorm was slower. He'd lingered. The taps squealed shut, but he continued to watch. His eyes traced Nicholai's strong, heat-reddened arm as it reached for the white towel lankily hanging on the hook nearby. He put it around his shoulders, patting his face dry, soft, accented sighs escaping his lips as he ran the fabric over his silver hair. Those sighs would reverberate through his head, beating at his temples, as he lay down on his bed. They would echo and echo as he gave in to the temptation he refused to acknowledge existed and slipped his hand past the waistband of his briefs.

The lies he told himself rapidly shattered. With every new woman he fucked in the dingy bathroom of the bar in the nearby settlement, his convinced rational became shakier and shakier. With every moan that passed through their lips he no longer enjoyed, with every thrust he felt entirely disassociated from, with every moment _that man_ passed through his mind while looking into the eyes of a beautiful, delicate woman desperate for his affection -- he realised he was being sucked into an abyss he had no way to survive the pull of.

He would begin to hate himself.

And Nicholai.

His heart had nearly lunged through his throat when the sultry, smug voice confidently penetrated the steam and sound of running water.

_"I know you've been watching me."_

Nicholai's back was towards him, the man's palms flat against the tiled wall before him, head bowed into the stream as the water rushed down the tattooed canvas of flushed flesh that was his back. The question that followed the silence was quieter, breathier. The deep, rolling Russian tongue swept through the syllables of his name like honey running down a porcelain pot.

_"Why have you been watching me, Carlos?"_

He never answered.

They had come to a silent agreement, weeks ago. He'd sit on the shaky wooden bench in the old shower room, the one close to the lockers, and _watch_.

Words were never exchanged. The few, fleeting moments their eyes met would be short, and filled Carlos with a burn he couldn't, or wouldn't, decode.

He left when the taps were closed, before Nicholai could turn around, stalking out of the bathroom with a cautiousness that hid his haste. He'd flee to his dorm, and masturbate to the thoughts which drummed through his mind like the headache it often was.

This time, Carlos watched. He sat on the bench, hands firmly clasping the edge, muscles in his arms contracting. He breathed in the steam pulsing out through the shower head, beating over Nicholai's body. He savoured the pastel pink flush that washed over the man's skin as the hot water penetrated his pores. 

And then he stood.

A devious smirk slowly crawled across Nicholai's face when he manifested beside him, shoulder leaning against the tiled wall, no concern for the water peppering across his clothes. Carlos had a stern look on his face, jaw clenched in derision, chocolate eyes laser-locked on the older man's blue ones. 

"I'm not a faggot." He asserted flatly, breathing a ragged breath through his nose.

Nicholai mimicked his pose mockingly, leaning his naked shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms against his chest. The water continued to flow over him, raining from his locks of silver hair like liquid mercury. 

"None of you are, hm?" He said, the smirk becoming darker and more devilish every passing second, "None of you _ever_ are."

Carlos swallowed, furrowing his brow. He could feel his breaths getting deeper, bouncing through his stomach before ricocheting into his lungs, huffing through his flared nostrils angrily. A moment of silence passed between them.

A moment to a minute.

A minute to what felt like an eternity. 

The way he grabbed Nicholai was involuntarily primal, hand around his pale throat as he pushed him into the corner. The older man simply laughed -- a giddy, jovial laugh that reverberated through the room, piercing Carlos' mind abusively. 

His body was against Nicholai's -- the man's wet skin sticking to his light shirt, soiling the fabric. The Russian had a mischievous grin plastered on his face, one that jeered at him for the sinful aggression he was unable to contain. One that told him he was complying voluntarily, not because he'd been overpowered.

Carlos could never overpower him. They both knew that.

The demonstration of sultry, willing submission provoked the younger man. Arousal welled up in his gut as anger flooded through his conscious mind. Internally, he accused Nicholai of provoking him -- manipulating him.

Carlos replaced his hand with his mouth, sucking and kissing Nicholai's tender neck with an acute urgency. His tongue ran past his lips, sucking up the flesh, tugging on it brutally. He could _feel_ Nicholai's moans reverberate through the muscles and tendons of his throat, the breathy sighs that had driven him wild from the first night were wafting through the steam of the room, assaulting his ears, stoking the fire in his hips. 

He was running his hands along Nicholai's slick flesh, tightly grasping at the sides of his waist, savouring the feeling of the muscles contract and pulsate beneath his palms.He dug his thumbs into the flesh, gripping the older man tightly as he continued to savage his neck with his tongue and lips. The tattoos beneath his claw-like squeeze were turning red, nails digging into the ink.

Carlos separated his lips from the man's neck with a harsh suck, gasping for air as the older man continued to groan sweetly, bellies pressing against each other as they both reclaimed breath for very different reasons. He slid his nose up Nicholai's jaw, letting his lips tickle the lobe of his ear as he growled a guttural demand.

" ** _Turn. Around_**." 

Nicholai complied immediately, turning to face the tiled corner he'd been shoved into and setting his hands against the wall. He shot a perverted look over his shoulder, eyes hazy with half-lidded lust. Carlos was frantically unbelting his trousers, trailing his gaze along the strong, sinewy back he'd admired for so long at a distance.

"Fucking faggot..." He grunted unconsciously, freeing himself from what had become a tight prison of fabric, mutters of lustful anguish fluttering past his lips. "Filthy slut."

"I'm not filthy." A smug, defiant retort.

He slipped his hand into the wet locks of Nicholai's silver hair, grabbing a fistful and tugging his head back until the man's ear grazed his lips. "You are what I say you are."

The slight roll of Nicholai's eyes under fluttering lids as he absorbed the words matched the way his lips parted to release the smallest sigh of pleasure, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards ever so slightly.

He loved it.

Carlos released him, letting him re-assume the position he'd taken earlier, focusing on his own increasingly frantic demands. Pre-cum was dripping from his cock, arousal fully erect and pressing against Nicholai's firm behind. He swallowed hard as his eyes traced the delicate contour of the man's glutes, hand reverently moving to stroke the pale flesh as an iron-clad ball began to grow in his throat. 

This was all foreign. But he couldn't stop.

Grabbing Nicholai's hip with one hand, he pushed himself into the orifice he knew was demanding his entry. A haphazard, amateur penetration, but one which left him gasping and shuddering in delight. He could feel the older man tightening around him, his shaky breaths reverberating down his stomach and through Carlos' cock. When he was pressed up against Nicholai, fully lunged into his guts, he leaned over him to possess him fully with two strong arms. 

Nicholai's head rolled onto his shoulder. His eyes were closed, a red flush swiped across his cheeks and nose. Carlos could feel his ribcage when the man sucked deep breaths in, and he ran his fingers along the quivering bones delicately. 

"Filthy... _fuckin' whore_." The harsh words provoked a loud moan from the man he was raggedly thrusting in. He could see a devious smile tugging at the corner of the man's flushed lips, causing his cheek to quiver. 

Carlos sighed, suppressing a grunt at the bottom of his throat, "Tell me." He gasped, feeling his neck muscles strain as he attempted to contain the harsh groans that wanted so desperately to escape, "Tell me you're sorry for being a whore."

The laugh that barked through Nicholai's lips was deliciously insubordinate. His smile turned to a grin, eyes still closed, body arching into the thrusts.

"I'm sorry for being a whore..." A moan hitched through his throat, "... _Corporal Oliveira_."

Carlos grunted loudly, grimacing as he attempted to control the uncontrollable. Nicholai's normally caustic tone had been transmuted into a lustful, breathy mutter, and his accent danced so erotically across the submissive syllables. 

He climaxed shortly after, squeezing Nicholai close to him as he emptied his seed. The gasps, sputters, and groans he'd been trying to hold back spilled out in one incoherent, animalistic sound he'd never emitted before. He shuddered and quaked, legs weak and stomach queasy as he felt himself involuntarily dig his nose into the older man's neck, lips dancing over the flesh, squeezing him close, until he felt physically able to pull out. 

He watched as a stream of sticky, thick cum dripped from Nicholai, running down the delicate arch of his buttocks and down into his inner thighs. 

The older man turned, leaning against the wall behind him, breathing still ragged, face still flushed from the rough fuck. Carlos assessed him while he was hurriedly, indignantly tucking himself back in his trousers, their eyes locking together in silence. 

Carlos' jaw gaped slightly in awe as Nicholai slowly dipped a hand down between his thighs, lifting the cum-soaked digits to his mouth and enrobing them with his lips seductively. The young man swallowed audibly, suddenly deciding there was a rather interesting tile on the floor that needed his immediate, undivided attention.

Nicholai was chuckling at the humiliation welling up on Carlos' face -- a flush of pink dusting over his caramel flesh.

"Is this how you treat your lady friends?" Nicholai scoffed sardonically, rubbing the red marks Carlos had left along his hipbones, "No wonder you don't have a steady girlfriend."

The younger man continued to cast his gaze down at the corner, running his eyes along the crystals of water still marring the black tiles. He was still catching his breath, orienting his thoughts, feeling the arousal in his hips sputter to smoke.

"Well, it's okay, Carlos..." Nicholai tauntingly smirked, crossing his arms, "I can be your girlfriend."

Carlos huffed, furrowing his brow as he shot a glare at the older man who was bowing his head into him slightly, a devilish glimmer echoing through his eyes, "Just so long as you keep calling me a _slut_."

Nicholai turned and stepped back into the stream of water that had been beating down from the shower the whole time. 

"Do you want to watch again or are we done here?" He said, beginning to scrub his hands over his body.

When a response never followed, he cast a glance over his shoulder.

A smile tugged at his lips when he saw the young man settling down onto the wooden bench by the lockers.

"Okay."

**Author's Note:**

> My first (strictly) Carlos/Nicholai! Inspired and prompted very heavily by Fanficreader01, who put the whole idea of Carlos/Nicholai in my head, so I am gifting it to him. <3 Please read his work!!!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! This was fun to write. I think the idea of Carlos struggling with his sexuality and taking his frustrations out with some raunchy, nasty, verbal Nicholai sex was the right approach, though who knows? I don't. You tell me.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Vacation Hours](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26004256) by [AnotherAnon0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/pseuds/AnotherAnon0)




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